


Ink to Flesh

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Piercer Cora Hale, Tattoo Artist Cora Hale, Tattoo Artist Peter Hale, Tattoo Artist Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: Peter loves his job as a tattoo artist. He owns, in his own humble opinion, the best shop in Beacon Hills. Not that there's much competition, but still. His only real competition is an artist from Bandit Tattoos. The shop is owned by an obnoxious man named Harris, who isn't even an artist. He'd just bought the shop when the previous owner was desperate and sold it to him for cheap. No, the only person is Beacon Hills that is close to Peter's skill is one of Harris' artists, a mouthy little shit named Stiles. Stiles had apprenticed under Bandit's former owner and is one of the most natural talents Peter has ever seen. His portrait work is incredible, as are his watercolors and new school (an area Peter hates to say isn't his strong suit). Peter takes solace in the fact that Stiles' Japanese and old school work isn't as good as Peter's though. He's not petty, not at all.OrPeter and Stiles are tattoo artists from rival shops.





	Ink to Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Ink to Flesh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697584) by [pineapple_bread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapple_bread/pseuds/pineapple_bread)



Peter loves his job as a tattoo artist. He owns, in his own humble opinion, the best shop in Beacon Hills. Not that there's much competition, but still. There's Chameleon Ink that mostly uses flash art, catering to people wanting their first tattoos of tribal arm bands or their spouse's name. Kryptonite Tattoo is a young shop. They might be great eventually, but right now there's a lot of inexperience and mistakes being made over there. Addicted to the Needle, which unfortunately named, also has a sterilization problem and more people come out of there with infections than any shop Peter has ever heard of.

His only real competition is an artist from Bandit Tattoos. The shop is owned by an obnoxious man named Harris, who isn't even an artist. He'd just bought the shop when the previous owner was desperate and sold it to him for cheap. He does nothing but hover over his artists and be a generally unpleasant person. Peter wouldn't want to visit a tattoo shop where the owner didn't even have any tattoos, but that's personal preference he supposes.

No, the only person is Beacon Hills that is close to Peter's skill is one of Harris' artists, a mouthy little shit named Stiles. Stiles had apprenticed under Bandit's former owner and is one of the most natural talents Peter has ever seen. His portrait work is incredible, as are his watercolors and new school (an area Peter hates to say isn't his strong suit). Peter takes solace in the fact that Stiles' Japanese and old school work isn't as good as Peter's though. He's not petty, not at all.

Peter actually comes across Stiles' work a lot. It seems that they share some of the same clients. They'll go to Stiles for one type of art, and Peter for another. A client will lie on his table and Peter will see something like a new watercolor lily, or the pirate ship from Peter Pan, and immediately recognize who did it. 

Peter's shop, Black Wolf Tattoo, is small, especially since his business partner moved to Los Angeles last year. It's just him and his niece Cora. They cater to humans and werewolves alike, which gives them a decent following and clients travel a long way to see them. Still, they're a small shop in a small town and as much as Peter hates it, it means he still has to do tattoo conventions.

There's nothing wrong with conventions he supposes. It's a good way for artists to get their name out there, and sometimes the awards for the best pieces are good, but still. He hates them. There are always a few very specific types of people. There are the ones wanting free work in exchange for 'exposure'. There are those that want an extremely detailed and intricate tattoo that would usually be completed over several sessions done in one hour. He even gets a few that want him to draw them up a design that the can take to another artist to tattoo on them for cheaper. Some of the time Cora is putting a hand on his arm, making sure he doesn't rip those people a new asshole. Sometimes it's Peter holding her back.

The Bay Area Tattoo Convention is the closest one to Beacon Hills and Peter goes every year. His art usually wins at least one category, but in recent years, he and Stiles have been vying for that top Best of Show award. As a convention veteran, Peter's booth is given prime position, well away from the bathrooms and food vendors. This year, Bandit Tattoo has been given the booth right next to his, and Peter wants to chuck his portfolio at them.

Peter has a clear view into their area and occasionally watches them set up once he and Cora have everything in its place. Harris is there supervising his artists, barking out orders and making snide comments. Stiles makes faces behind Harris' back, blushing a bit when he looks up and sees Peter watching. He shrugs, unrepentant and Peter nods back. He absolutely gets it.

The thing about Stiles is that the boy is fucking gorgeous. He has messy brown hair that Peter can't decide is artfully styled or if it's just how he woke up. His right arm is completely covered in a sleeve. It's beautiful work, supernaturally themed and includes werewolves, a banshee, and a kitsune. (Peter may have stalked his Instagram. Purely out of artistic curiosity, of course.) There's a tattoo curling up the side of his neck and disappearing down the collar of his shirt. Peter has never been able to tell what it is from glances, but he can see a tail. It's probably bad form to ask him to take off his shirt so he can look, but he's been tempted.

Stiles' shoulders are broad, his waist narrow, and his arms corded with lean muscle. The first time Peter had seen his long fingers, his brain had almost short circuited. His brown eyes are always dancing with amusement and his plush lips always moving. Peter refuses to lust after a rival artist, but his body doesn't seem to be getting that message. 

"You're staring again," Cora says.

Peter glares at her. "I am not."

"Right, you don't look longingly over at him ever," Cora says. "If it makes you feel better, he stares right back.

"It's begrudging mutual respect from one artist to another," Peter says.

"It's sexual tension," Cora says.

"Don't you have something you need to be doing?" Peter asks.

"Nope. Doors don't open for another twenty minutes," Cora says. "Unless you want to pay for me to get a soft pretzel."

"Here," Peter says, reaching into his pocket and tossing her his wallet. "Go away. Get me one, too."

"Sure thing," Cora says, saluting him and walking off.

He'd fire her, the insolent little shit, but she's a good artist, a good piercer, and his favorite family member. The brat.

There's a throat clearing and Peter turns to see Stiles. He's smiling widely, casually leaning on the metal barricade gate separating their two booths

"Hey," Stiles says. "I saw that portrait you did a few weeks ago of that kid's grandmother in World War II. That's fucking wicked."

"Thank you," Peter says. "You have no idea how long it took me to convince him not to have me include a party hat."

"He - what?" Stiles asks.

"He wanted a cartoon party hat put on her head," Peter says, sounding pained.

"Why?" Stiles asks.

"He says he thought it'd be funny," Peter says with a shrug. "The only reason he finally gave it up is I made him call the grandmother and she was less than happy."

Stiles snorts. "Good. I'd hate to recommend an artist that ruined a beautiful portrait with a cartoon party hat," he says.

"You recommended me?" Peter asks, eyebrows raising.

"Yeah, I had a guy come in that wanted a couple of old school sparrows done before he goes to college," Stiles says. "I'm booked for all the times he wants and you're better at that kind of thing than I am." Stiles shrugs as he says it, like it's no big deal.

"I think I have an appointment with him later this week," Peter says. "I'm surprised, thank you."

"Don't get used to it, I still gotta pay rent," Stiles says with a wink.

"Did you get that problem with your machine fixed?" Peter asks.

"Nah, the tension screw was shot, I just bought a new one," Stiles says. "Expensive, but worth it. Of course, I had to wait until after I had a little discussion with Harris about how much of my money he's keeping from me."

"Oh?" Peter asks.

"Yeah, last paycheck he tried taking almost 100% and telling me I have to live off my tips for the next couple of weeks," Stiles says.

"What?" Peter asks, shocked. It's normal for the owner of the shop to take a percentage of an artist's total cost for a tattoo, but to take 100% for someone who isn't an apprentice is nearly unheard of.

"Yeah," Stiles says wryly. "And you can imagine how fun that conversation was."

"Lucky you," Peter says. He's about to ask Stiles what he's working on next, but Harris' reedy voice interrupts them.

"Mr. Stilinski, I'm not paying you to chat up the competition," Harris says. He sends a nasty look Peter's way, which Peter returns with as much disdain as humanly possible (and Peter is capable of a lot of disdain).

"Duty calls," Stiles says. "No hard feelings when I wipe the floor with you for Best of Show this year."

"At the end of the convention I'll be accepting your congratulations on my masterful win," Peter says.

Stiles rolls his eyes and walks away from Peter's booth, back to unloading supplies. 

Cora comes back a few minutes later eating a soft pretzel. She hands Peter his and a cup of cheese sauce to dip it in. 

"Did I miss the flirting fireworks?" Cora asks, nodding to where Stiles is assembling his machine at his station.

Peter ignores her and luckily, the convention center doors open and patrons start filing inside. Peter and Cora both have a few appointments lined up, though Peter's first won't be here for another hour. Cora's client, her friend Erica, arrives promptly, ready for her tattoo. Peter's seen the design, a small pumpkin patch for her inner forearm, and it's going to look gorgeous. Cora's submitting it to the contest for best small color piece.

Peter watches Cora work for a bit, then looks out at the crowd of people milling around. A decent amount of people stop to flip through his and Cora's portfolios. A few ask him questions, see if he has any appointments available. He's almost booked up for the convention, with just an hour and a half slot left for the final day. He's pleased. When he and his old partner, Deucalion, first started coming to these events, there were years where they had nothing to do the entire time other than sit and watch other artists work.

Peter's client, a 68-year-old woman named Betsy, is early. She wants to get a bouquet of flowers, one for each member of her family. She's possibly the cutest grandma Peter has ever met. She brings him and Cora toffee and peanut brittle. Peter gives her a hefty discount, just because. 

Peter's just finishing up with Betsy when there's an excited squeal from the Bandit booth. Peter looks over to see Stiles' client looking at her tattoo in the mirror. It runs down her side, a beautiful and elaborate peacock whose feathers look like they're made of lace. Damn it, it's beautiful. Stiles catches him looking and throws a wink his way, looking proud.

When Peter turns back to finish cleaning off Betsy's tattoo, she's giving him a knowing look. Peter points a threatening finger at her.

"Don't start, Miss Betsy," he warns.

Betsy just laughs and pats the side of his face.

"You youngins are so cute," she says. 

Peter makes a face. He doesn't remember the last time someone called him cute that wasn't one of his parents. Betsy just laughs again.

Cora finishes Erica's tattoo a little after Peter is done with Betsy, and they have a few minutes to relax and chat with people that come up to their booth before their next appointments arrive. That's mostly how it goes for the rest of the day. Cora has one no-show appointment so she can spend time manning the front of the booth, setting up consultations and selling gift certificates when people ask. By the end of the day, Peter's tired, his hand is a little sore, and he's ready to go back to his hotel room.

"Erica and I are getting drinks, do you want to come?" Cora asks.

"No, I think I've had enough of people for today," Peter says.

"You're going to go to bed early like an old man, aren't you?" Cora accuses.

"I'm not dignifying that with a response."

"So that's a yes, then."

Despite what he tells Cora, Peter doesn't go to bed right away. The Italian restaurant a few doors down from their hotel is amazing, and he heads there for dinner first. He had meant it, he doesn't think he has the energy to go out with other people, but that doesn't mean he can't go out to eat alone.

The appetizer of bruschetta has just arrived when Peter hears a familiar laugh. He looks over to the bar to see Stiles sitting with one of his coworkers. A second later, Stiles gives the girl a hug and she heads out, Stiles staying at the bar with his beer. Peter isn't sure if he wants Stiles to see him or not. He hadn't wanted to deal with other people tonight, but he doesn't know if Stiles counts.

It doesn't matter in the end because Stiles looks over and spots him. He smirks and waves before standing and picking his way through the crowd to get to Peter's table.

"Mind if I join you?" Stiles asks, pointing at the empty seat across from Peter.

"Go ahead," Peter says. 

Stiles slides into the chair and Peter finds that he actually doesn't mind all that much.

"Fancy red wine, bruschetta, what a hoity toity tattoo artist you are," Stiles teases.

"There's nothing wrong with liking expensive things. We can't all exist on McDonald's happy meals," Peter says, giving Stiles a pointed look.

"Okay, you caught me doing that one time, dude!" Stiles says. "And there were Neopets toys! I don't know how you expected me to resist that!"

"You are over eighteen, right? I assume you would have to be given your body art and profession, but I just can't be sure..." Peter says.

"Fuck you," Stiles says, but he's grinning. "Sorry I don't buy wine more expensive than my rent, damn."

"Not more than rent, just a car payment," Peter says, taking a sip of his admittedly expensive merlot. 

"Such a pretentious ass," Stiles says. "Can I try a sip?"

"You just called me an ass," Peter reminds him.

"Yeah but I mean, I said it in a nice way," Stiles says.

Peter shakes his head, but he pushes the glass toward Stiles. Stiles takes a drink and immediately makes a face, shoving the glass back to Peter. Peter laughs and takes a sip.

"Let me guess, not sweet enough for you?" Peter asks.

"Wine is only good in sangria," Stiles says.

"You're a heathen," Peter says.

Stiles shrugs. "A heathen who likes my tastebuds and rewards them with delicious food," he says. "I don't need bitter grape juice and fancy toast to be happy."

Peter just sighs. He and Stiles talk for a bit about the show, about the new artists they've seen so far, about how Peter is going to demolish Stiles in the Best of Show category ("Keep dreaming, gramps."). Eventually, Peter's chicken parmigiana arrives and Stiles takes that as his cue to leave.

"You're welcome to stay," Peter tells him when Stiles stands.

"Nah, I don't wanna be weird and watch you eat," Stiles says. "I'm exhausted, anyway. I'm gonna head to bed so I'm not running on pure caffeine tomorrow. And probably down some NyQuil so I don't have to think too hard about staying in a Motel 6."

Peter has the irrational desire to invite Stiles up to his room. Fucking him isn't even the first thing on his mind (though it is the second), but simply letting him sleep somewhere that doesn't light up like a murder scene under a black light. He lets the thought go and bids Stiles goodnight, watching him until he disappears around the bar corner. He's glad Cora isn't here to witness this.

\---

The second and final day of the convention is less busy, thankfully. They still get plenty of foot traffic and set up consultations for people later in the week, but Peter doesn't feel as rushed as he did yesterday. The piece he's entering for the Best of Show award is a trash polka piece incorporating Venetian masks and skull elements. It's a lot to pack into one tattoo, but Peter's balanced it well and he loves experimenting with the trash polka style.

His client is Boyd, Erica's boyfriend. There's an obnoxious misconception around the community that you can't tattoo colors on dark skin, and Peter is well aware that that's bullshit. He wants to put his winning piece on Boyd to prove that. 

Cora doesn't have as many appointments today, so she spends more time than Peter at the front of the booth, chatting with potential clients. Peter is well aware of the eyes on him as he works, plenty of people stopping to watch as they meander around. Peter lets Boyd up after a couple hours to stretch and get some water. When he looks up, Stiles is craning his head, trying to see what Peter's working on. 

"You'll see it when it wins," Peter calls over.

Stiles flips him off and goes back to his own work.

Toward the end of the day, everyone gathers by the main stage for the announcements of this year's award winners. Cora wins her category for Erica's pumpkin patch. Stiles' peacock wins for large color piece, and Peter takes the award for best traditional piece. Stiles sidles up to Peter's side when they're about to announce the Best in Show winner.

"Loser buys winner dinner?" Stiles asks.

"Pancakes from Denny's don't count as dinner," Peter says.

Stiles snorts. "Fine, $50 to the winner?"

"Sure," Peter says, shaking Stiles' outstretched hand. Cora makes vomiting sounds next to him.

"And for Best in Show, this year's winner is...Jennifer Blake from Druid Needles!" the announcer says. 

"WHAT?" Stiles shouts, but it's lost over the applause for Jennifer.

They show the winning tattoo on a screen, a slightly lopsided tree stump that Peter is pretty sure is supposed to be a nemeton. Stiles squints next to him, tilting his head to the side. 

" _That_ won?" Stiles says incredulously. 

"Her wife is one of the judges," Cora says. "Kali, the one on the end."

Peter looks where Cora is pointing and yes, that is one of the judges that had walked around and inspected people's work kissing Jennifer. 

Stiles slants his gaze to Peter and says, "I'm not giving her $50."

\---

Peter's glad to be back on his regular schedule. Cora doesn't mind the conventions as much as he does, but she's glad to be home too. It's just easier to work in their studio than in a cramped booth with hundreds of people walking by. 

It's a few weeks after they've been back, in the middle of Peter inking a memorial hummingbird on a girl, that Laura calls. Peter ignores it. If it's important, she'll call back and when his phone stays silent, he lets it go. An hour later when his client is out the door, he calls her back. 

_"You're gonna love this,"_ Laura says instead of hello.

"Hello Laura," Peter says. "How are you? I'm wonderful, thank you for asking."

 _"Yeah, yeah, whatever,"_ Laura says and Peter has no idea how she's a deputy when she can barely hold polite conversation. _"Guess what? Bandit Tattoos has been shut down."_

"What? Why?"

 _"Adrian Harris has been cheating on his taxes and stealing money from his employees for years. He owes hundreds of thousands. He just went on the run when the IRS came calling,"_ Laura says.

"You're kidding," Peter says.

 _"Nope!"_ Laura says. _"We went to arrest him and his house was abandoned. The feds are picking up the search for him now."_

"I always knew he was a piece of shit," Peter says.

 _"I know, you must be so proud,"_ Laura says. _"Anyway, I have to go. I just wanted to let you know more competition bites the dust."_

"You're a gem," Peter says.

_"Will you be at family dinner tomorrow night?"_

"Of course."

_"Okay, talk to you then."_

Peter lets that ruminate for a bit. Harris, unpleasant man that he is, can be a little slippery at times. Peter has no doubt he'll get caught, and hopefully soon, but you never know. He lets it go to the back of his mind, focusing getting everything ready to take to the accountant's later. It's a tedious part of owning his own shop, but he does what he has to so he doesn't have to work under someone else.

Peter's shop is fully custom, no flash work to speak of, so it's not often that he gets a walk in. It does happen though, so Peter isn't surprised when he's sitting at the front desk, invoices in front of him, and hears the door open. He is surprised that it's Stiles. He's standing there looking extremely uncomfortable, holding a three ring binder to his chest like armor.

"Uh, hey," Stiles says.

"Hello," Peter says. He sets aside the paperwork and stands, walking around the desk to lean against it, speaking to Stiles without a barrier between them. "What can I do for you? If it's a belly button ring, Cora isn't back from lunch for another ten minutes."

"Ha, no," Stiles says. "Uh, I was kind of wondering if you're hiring?"

Peter blinks at him in surprise. He hadn't expected that, though he probably should have.

"What?" Peter asks.

"Uh, I don't know if you heard, but we kind of got shut down," Stiles says. "Harris is a big stealing stealer and the IRS was all over the place and I'm kind of unemployed now." When Peter continues to look at him, Stiles says, "I brought my portfolio, and my resume and list of references," and hands the binder over to Peter.

"You can't be serious," Peter says.

Stiles' shoulders slump, dejected and he smells of embarrassment.

"Yeah, I just figured I'd try, sorry," Stiles says. He goes to reach for the binder but Peter tugs it away.

"I didn't mean it like that," Peter says. "I meant I know your work, Stiles. I don't need to see your portfolio."

Stiles looks up, naked hope in his eyes. It'd be a smart move on Peter's part to hire Stiles. There are a lot of areas they both excel in, but Stiles is strong in some where Peter is weaker and vice versa. They're really the only two artists in Beacon Hills that are worth going to for anything more complicated than simple lettering. 

"Even if it's just a trial basis," Stiles says quickly.

"I have to clean out Deucalion's old work area, I've just been using it for storage," Peter says. "I can start you next week."

"Oh thank god, I didn't want to have to go work at Addicted to the Needle," Stiles says, sagging in relief.

"Was that really your next plan?" Peter asks. "I thought you were smarter than that."

"I didn't _want_ to," Stiles says. "Their owner called me as soon as he heard what happened and offered me a place."

"I can't blame him for wanting to scoop up good talent," Peter says. "But you'd think he'd focus on cleaning his shop up a little first."

Stiles grins. "You think I'm talented," he sing-songs.

"Of course I do, I've told you that," Peter says.

"Oh, nuh uh, you haven't," Stiles says. "You've said I'm annoying and poaching on your clients."

"Yes, because you're good at your job," Peter says. "Don't expect me to keep stroking your ego."

"No, of course not," Stiles says, still grinning.

"Go away, I need to clean up a space for you," Peter says.

"Sure thing, boss," Stiles says. "Seriously though, thank you."

Peter nods. "You're welcome."

Peter watches Stiles leave, his scent considerably cheerier than when he'd entered. Peter's still holding the binder Stiles had brought in. He takes a seat behind the desk and opens it up. The first page is as Stiles said, a resume. It's unsurprisingly short, with Bandit Tattoos being the only shop where he's worked. 

Peter flips past the resume to the portfolio. Even though Peter knows what Stiles is capable of, he's still impressed to see it up close. He's sectioned the portfolio off by type of art, and as Peter flips through it, he can't help but be grateful Stiles has decided to come to him. If he'd gone and opened his own shop, Peter would have been in serious trouble.

"So," Cora says, making Peter startle. He'd forgotten she was organizing supplies in the back room. "We're getting a new employee?"

"So it seems," Peter says. 

"Were you gonna run it by me first?" Cora asks.

"No, for two reasons. First, you like Stiles. Second, I'm the boss, not you," Peter says.

"Fair," Cora says with a shrug. "You know, it's frowned upon to bang employees."

"I'm not - " Peter groans, running a hand over his face. "Go away."

Cora laughs.

Cleaning out the extra space is more time-consuming than Peter had thought it would be. His shop is an open floor plan, and the third that used to be Deucalion's work space is filled with boxes and cordoned off with a couple of fancy room dividers. A lot of it is stuff Deucalion had left behind and Peter hadn't bothered to go through. Most of it gets tossed. Peter has an apartment over the top of the shop and some of the extra boxes end up up there because really, their storage room just isn't big enough.

By Monday, the space is ready. Stiles doesn't have any appointments set up yet, so he spends the morning adding his portfolio and contact information to the Black Wolf Tattoo website and setting up his work area. Cora's first appointment isn't until later in the day so she and Stiles chat for a bit while Peter works on his client. He tries not to eavesdrop, he really does, but he can't help but be drawn in by Stiles' laugh.

Word spreads relatively quickly that Stiles has moved to Black Wolf Tattoo, and his schedule gets a lot fuller. Stiles had sent out an email to his clients from Bandit Tattoos and most congratulated him on his new job and some even set up appointments to come in. A few of Stiles' friends, a cute kitsune named Kira and Lydia, who Peter is pretty sure is a banshee, come in to visit.

"Hey!" Stiles says. He hugs both of the girls and brings them over to his station, showing them how he has everything set up and giving them a mini tour of the shop. Peter's sketching a castle tattoo for a client and doesn't try to listen in, but it's a small space and even if he weren't a werewolf, voices carry.

"It's so much nicer than Bandit was," Kira says. "And cleaner."

"Yeah, well, Harris liked to cut corners when he could, and dusting was one of those," Stiles says.

"And to think, it was just your pride that kept you from trying to get a job here for years," Lydia says.

"Lydia," Stiles hisses.

"Well, pride and that massive unspoken attraction thing," Lydia says.

"I hate you," Stiles says. "Like really, colossally hate you."

"Such a liar," Lydia says. 

"Anyway, since we're here, do you guys have a piercer?" Kira asks.

"Yeah, Cora does piercings," Stiles says. "She's doing a nose right now I think."

"I can wait," Kira says.

Cora pops out a few minutes later and after her client pays and goes on his way, Stiles, Kira, and Lydia head over. Her schedule is free for the next hour, so she happily does Kira's conch piercing. Lydia hums and decides she wants a tragus done. 

When the girls leave, it's with hugs for Stiles, new metal, and Lydia with Cora's number.

"So, banshee and kitsune," Peter says, leaning against the wall by Stiles' station. "Are they the reason behind your tattoo?"

Stiles glances down at the supernatural sleeve covering his arm and nods. "Yeah. Scott, my best friend is a werewolf, so that's for him. Then one for Lydia and one for Kira. The bow and arrow is for a friend who's a hunter."

"It's beautiful work," Peter says. It takes a lot of effort not to reach out and touch, even though Peter knows exactly how obnoxious and rude it is when people do that. It takes even more effort not to sneer at the mention of the hunter Allison Argent.

"Thanks, Deaton did it before he sold the shop to Harris," Stiles says. 

"I have to ask, what's this one?" Peter asks, motioning to the tail curving around Stiles' neck and disappearing down his shirt. 

"Oh, that's Clawdia," Stiles says. He lifts his shirt, showing off the extremely realistic leopard crawling down Stiles' torso, its bright green eyes stunning. 

"C-l-a-w-dia?" Peter asks.

"Yep," Stiles says, dropping his shirt. "My mom's name was Claudia and she loved leopards, like, a _lot_ , so I got that when I turned eighteen. Deaton saw the sketch I did for it and offered me a spot as an apprentice right there. So, I disappointed my dad by turning down a scholarship to UCLA and have been doing this since."

"It's gorgeous," Peter says.

"Yeah, thanks," Stiles says. "I realize you didn't ask all that, but sometimes I just get going and don't stop talking. You have to cut me off because I get too far or I'll keep going forever."

"You're fine," Peter says. "It's always interesting to hear how people started out."

"Yeah? What about you? How'd you get your start?" Stiles asks.

"Deucalion was a family and pack friend and was opening a shop," Peter says. "He knew I had a thing for body art and asked if I wanted to go in on it with him."

"Gocha, cool. So the whole tattooing a werewolf thing..." Stiles says slowly. "Do you think that's something you'd be willing to teach me?"

"You don't know how?" Peter asks, surprised.

"Uh, no," Stiles says sheepishly. "Deaton never showed me."

"That's fine. I think my next werewolf client is tomorrow, I can ask him if he's okay with you watching," Peter says. 

"Thanks," Stiles says.

Jeremy, the big, biker werewolf Peter is tattooing the next day says he doesn't mind at all. He shakes Stiles' hand and introduces himself as the enforcer for the Collins pack over in an unincorporated part of Beacon County. 

Stiles watches as Peter tattoos Jeremy. The ink is a special mixture and it needs to be gone over with the needle a few more times than it does on non-were skin, but the process is more or less the same. It's when the blow torch comes out that Stiles balks.

"What the fuck?" he asks, sliding back as far as his chair will let him.

"You need to burn the tattoo area to make it show up, otherwise the skin will just heal over it," Peter says.

"Oh my god," Stiles says. He looks distinctly queasy. 

"You don't have to watch," Peter says. 

"Sorry," Stiles says. "No, I can watch, I need to know how to do this. If he can have it done to him, I can at least see it."

"Suit yourself," Peter says.

Stiles doesn't faint, but it looks to be a close thing. Peter doesn't suspect his schedule will be filled with werewolf clients any time soon.

Peter has plenty of time to observe Stiles over the next few weeks. He's incredible to watch. The flailing, manic energy he usually has is shockingly contained, all of his attention on his work. More than once, Peter sees a client try to ask him out, one even as bold as to rest their hand on his thigh. Peter has the shockingly strong urge to rip it off. Stiles always politely declines, though he looks pink in the face while he does so.

Stiles has been working with Peter and Cora for about a month when he comes to Peter with a request. It's Cora's day off and she's out somewhere with Lydia, so it's just Stiles and Peter cleaning up and closing up the shop for the night.

"So, I have a question," Stiles says.

"Should I be worried?" Peter asks. "Good things don't usually start with 'I have a question'."

"No, nothing bad," Stiles says quickly. "I was just wondering if maybe you'd tattoo me?"

"Why are you so nervous to ask that?" Peter asks.

"Well, Deaton is the only one other than me that's ever inked me, so it's kind of a big deal for me," Stiles says. "You're the only one I'd trust to do it."

"I'd be happy to," Peter says. "What do you want?"

"You're gonna laugh," Stiles says.

"I tattooed a slug next to a woman's labia yesterday," Peter says. "I guarantee you, I won't."

Stiles snorts. "God, I almost forgot about that," he says. "Well, I want a Harry Potter half sleeve from my right knee down."

"Okay," Peter says easily. It's hardly the first Harry Potter tattoo he's done. "What do you want?"

"I don't want like their faces or anything, but more of the magical whimsy of the universe. I wanted to incorporate the flying keys, a snitch, Luna's spectrespecs," Stiles says. "Kind of like an amalgamation of Harry Potter-related objects."

"Okay," Peter says. "Do you have a design or do you want me to draw one up?"

"I'd like you to," Stiles says. "I like your style, I don't want something that I could just do myself."

"I can do that," Peter says. "Send me over pictures of the keys and everything so I can get a basic idea of what they look like and I'll get something started."

"Cool," Stiles says, grinning. "Thank you."

It takes Peter couple of days to get a design down that he likes and when he presents it to Stiles, he looks ecstatic. 

"I literally couldn't have thought up anything better," Stiles says. "When do you want to start?"

"Now?" Peter says.

"What, really?" Stiles asks.

It has been a slow day and neither of them have any appointments left, so Peter figures they might as well get started. 

Now, Peter has never found being a tattoo artist to be a particularly arousing occupation. It can be intimate, you are marking someone for life after all, and sometimes in very personal areas, but he's never thought of it as erotic. That all gets ruined having Stiles in front of him. 

Stiles' leg is soft and smooth, shaved for the tattooing process. Stiles' jeans were too tight to just roll the pant leg up so he's lying on Peter's table in just a t-shirt and his boxers, a blanket from the back room tossed over his lap. Peter is being tested.

Cora is just ten feet away, tattooing a crow on a girl home for winter break, and Peter has got to keep it together. He doesn't need her smelling just how happy he is to get his hands on Stiles' skin.

Peter takes a long time placing the stencil, wanting to make sure he gets everything exactly right. With Stiles' approval, he starts outlining the time turner near his knee. Stiles doesn't wince in pain, though Peter hadn't really expected him to. His hands will twitch occasionally when Peter gets particularly close to a nerve cluster or bone, but he doesn't flinch. 

Peter lets himself get lost in the work, focusing on the rhythm of the machine and the feel of Stiles' skin under his hands. He's glad there's the layer of the glove between them because Peter's not sure how he'd handle himself otherwise. 

When Cora's done, she comes over to check out what they're doing.

"Looking good, Stilinski," Cora says.

"Thanks," Stiles says. "It's all Peter's design."

"It pays to be his favorite," Cora says with a wink.

"I'm not his favorite," Stiles says.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Cora says. "I'm going to pick up teriyaki, do you guys want any?"

"Please," Peter says.

"Me too, thanks," Stiles says.

And just like that, they're alone. Peter tries to just keep working, tries to ignore his ridiculous infatuation with Stiles, but his hand is starting to get a little sore and he can tell Stiles needs a break, so he turns the machine off, takes off his gloves, and gets them water.

"Thanks," Stiles says, sitting up on the edge of the table, his legs dangling over the side. "I know we won't finish it all today, but I appreciate how much you're getting done."

"You're welcome," Peter says. 

Peter takes a seat on his rolling stool and takes Stiles gently by the ankle, drawing his foot into his lap. Stiles' breath catches, but he doesn't ask what Peter's doing and doesn't try to take his leg away. Peter tilts Stiles' leg from side to side, making sure the work he's done so far looks okay from this angle. His thumb rubs circles over the delicate bones of Stiles' ankle, though as soon as he realizes he's doing it, he stops.

Peter glances up at Stiles to find him looking down at him intently, bottom lip drawn into his mouth. Now would be a great time for Peter to let go of Stiles, to stand up and walk away, but he doesn't. Instead he draws what pain he can, taking the tattoo's throbbing ache into himself. Stiles watches with wide eyes as Peter's veins turn black and run up his arm before fading. 

"You don't have to do that," Stiles says softly. "It isn't that bad."

"I know," Peter says. "But if I can ease your discomfort, I will."

"You pain drain all your clients?" Stiles asks.

"No," Peter says. He curls his fingers tighter around Stiles' ankle.

"Oh," Stiles says. His heartbeat is rabbit fast in Peter's ears, but he doesn't smell like fear. Maybe a bit like nerves, but overwhelmingly like arousal.

Peter lowers Stiles' leg off his lap and stands, stepping in the space between Stiles' knees. Stiles spreads his legs wider, giving Peter room to step closer and lean forward, their upper bodies nearly touching. Stiles' hands rest on Peter's hips as Peter trails his fingers up Stiles arms, tracing over the soft skin of his neck to cup his face. Peter searches Stiles' eyes for any trace and hesitation and finds none. Stiles' tongue flicks out over his lips and Peter can't hold back anymore.

Peter surges forward, kissing Stiles deeply. Stiles moans, gripping at Peter and kissing him back just as hard. It's even better than Peter had imagined. Stiles is enthusiastic and makes the most wonderful, needy noises in the back of his throat as he licks into Peter's mouth. When Stiles breaks the kiss it's with a whimper as he takes big, gasping breaths. He rests his forehead against Peter's, hands still tight on Peter.

"Fuck," Stiles breathes. 

"Mm," Peter hums, turning his head to nuzzle at Stiles' temple.

"I need you to clean up my leg and wrap it," Stiles says.

"And why's that?" Peter asks, lips moving over the shell of Stiles' ears. "I'm not done with it."

"Tattooing's done for the day," Stiles says, dragging his nails up Peter's back, making him shiver. "And there are things I want to do with you that aren't sanitary on this table."

Peter laughs and pulls back just far enough to kiss Stiles again. He wants to linger, wants to keep kissing Stiles for hours, but Stiles is right, he needs to clean the tattoo. Peter quickly washes off the tattoo and covers it in plastic wrap. As soon as he's done, Stiles hops off the table and crowds Peter against the wall, running his nose across Peter's jawline. Peter's well aware that Stiles knows about werewolves, that Stiles knows what he's doing; he's scent marking Peter. 

"As much as I would love to finish this, and I would, Cora's going to be back any minute with food," Peter says, hands gripping Stiles tightly. 

Stiles groans, dropping his head to Peter's shoulder. "Fuck, you're right," Stiles says. 

"I live upstairs," Peter says, drawing nails up Stiles' back. "Come up with me?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, nodding quickly. "Yeah, let's do that."

Peter kisses Stiles one more time before stepping away from the wall. He leaves a note for Cora asking her to please put their food in the fridge, and leads Stiles to the back room and up the stairs to his apartment. It's not the cleanest at the moment, Peter's been rearranging furniture and finding a place for all those boxes he'd brought up, but Stiles doesn't seem to mind. His eyes never stray from Peter for long. Peter's bedroom is at the back of the apartment, through the living room and down a narrow hallway. 

Neither of them say anything when Peter turns on the light, just start stripping each other. Their clothes end up on the ground quickly, especially considering Stiles has been in nothing but a t-shirt and his boxers for the tattoo. It only takes moments before they're naked on Peter's bed, Stiles on his back looking up at Peter with wide eyes. Stiles reaches out, tracing his fingers over the triskelion over Peter's heart, the wolf covering most of the rest of his chest and torso. 

"This is beautiful," Stiles says, deliberately dragging his fingers over Peter's nipple. "But I mean it makes sense, all of you is beautiful."

"You're sweet," Peter says. "Now, let me show you just how beautiful I think you are."

Before Stiles can answer, Peter is taking his hard, leaking cock in his hand. Stiles groans, heading falling back onto the pillow as Peter strokes him. Stiles looks so good like this, his skin flushed with arousal, cock hard and red. His tattooed body is gorgeous, and Peter feels the need to leave his own mark, ducking down to suck a livid bruise onto Stiles' collarbone. Stiles wraps his fingers in Peter's hair, whining and gasping in pleasure.

"Peter," Stiles whines. "Peter I need you to fuck me."

Peter sets his teeth against the deep red mark on Stiles' collarbone then pulls away, rummaging through his bedside table for his bottle of lube. Stiles spreads his legs wide, giving Peter plenty of room. His wrapped leg is hanging over the side of the bed so it won't be bumped and it makes Peter snort out a laugh. Stiles rolls his eyes but laughs too at how ridiculous it looks. Peter loves this, loves being able to laugh with someone in his bed.

Peter stretches Stiles quickly, needing to be inside him as soon as possible. Stiles moans, back arching every time Peter brushes his prostate. Next time, he'll take his time. He'll open Stiles up slowly, see how long it takes for Stiles to beg him, but they're both too desperate for that now. That tension between them is too high for anything slow and drawn out right now. Stiles doesn't seem to mind, urging Peter on with little gasps and encouragements, promising he can take more. 

"I'm ready," Stiles whines when Peter has three fingers buried in him. "Come on, I'm ready."

"All right, sweetheart," Peter says, smirking at the shiver of pleasure that goes through Stiles at that. 

Peter slicks up his cock and presses it against Stiles' opening, pushing forward slowly until the head pops through that ring of muscle. Stiles hisses, though Peter can't feel any pain from him. Peter slides in slowly until his hips are flush against Stiles, thick cock buried in Stiles' ass. Stiles' hands are tight on Peter's arms, nails digging into the skin. 

Peter starts slowly, with dirty little grinds of his hips to help Stiles get used to the intrusion. Soon enough though, Stiles is rolling his hips with Peter's thrusts, wordlessly begging for more. Peter speeds up, fucking him harder and faster. Stiles lets out breathy moans and needy whimpers, clutching to Peter as he's fucked. 

"Please," Stiles moans. "Peter, I'm so close."

Peter sits back on his heels, hauling Stiles' hips up and pounds into him. Stiles shrieks, throwing his head back and baring his throat. Peter can't help himself, growling and leaning over to bury his face in Stiles' throat. He bites down, making Stiles shout, his cock jumping between their bellies. Peter reaches between them, wrapping a hand around Stiles' hard cock, and that's all it takes. Barely a stroke later, Stiles is coming, painting both of their stomachs with his release.

Peter fucks him through it with gritted teeth, Stiles' tight hole clenching around him. It's only a few more minutes between Peter is coming too, filling Stiles up. He spends a moment with his face buried in Stiles' throat, taking deep breaths while his heart rate goes back to normal, then rolls to the side. Stiles rolls with him, sprawling out over his chest. Peter gathers him close, pressing a kiss to Stiles' sweat damp hair.

"Wow," Stiles says, still breathing harshly. 

"Mmhmm," Peter says. 

"I hope you don't expect me to be going home tonight, because I think you broke me," Stiles says.

"Of course not," Peter says. "We'll take a teriyaki break and then we'll see how long it'll take you to come just from me fingering you."

Stiles groans. "You can't just say things like that, I can't get hard again this fast."

"That's the reason for the teriyaki break," Peter says. Stiles just snorts. 

They lounge in bed for a while, happy to trace the lines of ink covering their bodies, until Stiles' stomach growls. He blushes, but Peter just gets out of bed and tugs his jeans on before heading downstairs to see if Cora had come back and put their food in the back room's fridge. Lo and behold, two takeout boxes are there. There's also a sticky note on top of it in Cora's handwriting that says 'I fucking called it. And ew'. Peter just smiles and grabs the takeout boxes. He has plans for tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


End file.
